Your Colours
by All and Sundry
Summary: I've asked you for colours, here they are. : An experimental collection of short works in response to requests on tumblr. Pairings noted at the beginning of each piece.
1. Yellow

**Rating :** T  
 **Warnings :** language  
 **Pairing :** toonshipping (Pegasus x Seto)  
 **Colour :** yellow  
 **Musical inspiration :** Hazzy  
 **Requested by:** (numerous requesters)

* * *

The sheets shifted silently. Pressed from pillows with an inelegant sweep of a knee. Inelegant but careful.

He was.

Slow in that motion and the one after, perching carefully on the unoccupied side of the bed and smiling at the honeyed contents of a cup in hand.

From the other side of the bed, blankets moved again.

Soft shuffles.

Rumbles somewhere between them.

Low and warm.

"Pegasus."

"Yes?"

"Is that…"

An almighty yawn breaking up.

"…my tea?"

"And if I said yes?"

A bright a question as young sunlight dappling the room.

Laughter fading into the cup.

One sip.

Fragrance smoothed and honeyed and curling into cream.

Then another sip.

Mounds of fabric muffled a long sigh. Slid as he pulled up. Made crumpled points of his knees.

"I told you to stay out. It's brand new."

Without a word but rather a turn where he sat, Pegasus offered the cup.

Seto shook his head.

In a bow for another sip, silver came spilling into view.

"Oh for god's sake…"

Teacup and all chimed, abruptly set aside.

But annoyed sound died in his throat.

Fingertips came slowly sweeping. Long strands carefully up behind an ear. Just missing his jaw.

"Your hair's a mess."

As if his wasn't.

All at one side, dark ends feathering every which way.

 _Most of all_ _…_

And him blinking slowly, still waking.

 _I love when you are_ _…_

Not anything.

 _Just…_

"Seto."

He hummed in reply.

Then breathed a groan in protest.

What with finding himself suddenly back in bed.

Yet with company.

Gratitude at his lips.

Between.

Thick sighs.

Lazy little kisses.

Warm entangling.

Sheets and arms.


	2. Monochrome

**Rating :** T  
 **Warnings :** some illustration of mental trauma  
 **Pairing** : toonshipping  
 **Colour** : monochrome  
 **Musical inspiration** : _Memories of Childhood_ \- Alexandre Desplat / _Cry_ \- TSFH  
 **Requested by:** (requester has asked to remain anonymous)

 **B** its and inspiration taken from another piece I may not finish.

* * *

It echoed.

His name.

The sounds of a thousand hands coming together and beating in the same meaningless ritual.

Polite urgency.

The sliver of light between the curtains.

Wavering.

Like the grand thing it was.

Just outside.

A quivering mirage.

He wouldn't reach it this time.

He would only thank whatever god responsible for the pillar here.

It's being made of marble.

Unpleasant cold against his palm just enough to keep him here.

Not here.

Not this stage.

The boards were still worn with age, bound to creak with every other step up to the part in the curtains. There was another face up in the rafters, waiting for the cue. Just like…

That day.

His hand slipped from the wall.

Seconds later.

Hours later.

There was no time.

No sound.

Except from him.

His heart battering the inside of his ribs.

Some desperate bird uselessly flying into the bars.

Over and over.

He took one step.

The last step.

The world closed in.

That day.

This same feeling.

 _I can do this._

A mantra in his head.

Growing ever quieter.

If the whole of the roof came down.

On him.

On everyone awaiting him.

That was alright.

The sliver of light between the curtains was gold.

Wavering.

Parting.

"Seto."

Two syllables. Two knocks. His chest broke open and everything came out.

Flooded in harsh colour.

"I can't."

He felt the rest of the words sting as they stuck in his throat.

"What's wrong?"

A head tilting.

Silver sliding.

 _I can't._

Warm hands took his face.

Lifted it so that he would see.

A dark eye wide and searching his.

He thought to claw away the fingers just there on his jaw but his own wouldn't reach, too firmly gathered into shaking fists.

This stage.

All those people.

" _Enough now!"_

Something was shaking. His shoulders. Everything.

A phantom's hands.

" _Boys don't cry."_

It had never been just tears.

"Seto."

Memory washed away.

Shadows in murky sunlight.

"I can't do this."

He hated it.

Everything.

The way his own voice was crushed into a whisper.

The way his own hands latched onto his face.

The way their foreheads touched.

A long moment went by.

"I know you can."

The words spread over him in strange warmth.

Calm gaining.

And him fearful of it.

"You _can_."

Insisting.

But the weight of truth in it.

He didn't hear but felt.

Steps towards the bar of light between the curtains.

Velvet against the back of his hand.

Gaze on him from somewhere in the wings crinkling at the edges.


	3. Gold

**Rating :** T  
 **Warnings :** (none needed)  
 **Pairing** : trustshipping  
 **Colour** : gold  
 **Musical inspiration** : _Sophie's Tomorrow -_ Eminence Symphony Orchestra  
 **Requested by:** WritingAmateur

* * *

The afternoon sun made crosses over the tile floor and and light of her eyes.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay?"

A half dozen young faces with expectant smiles.

"Setup for the gala is almost finished, you needn't wait up."

Somewhere ahead, the doors whispered closed.

She imagined.

Some hours later they'd be held open with white gloves.

The low din of a slow-gathering party pressing out into the night air.

From within, swathes of bright fabric and masks all agleam.

Figurative.

Practiced smiles and polite laughs.

Literal.

Curving shapes around everyone's eyes, no end to decoration and expense.

But until then…

The right kind of near-silence before the proverbial storm. The kind where even the hums of the massive lights dotting the dark and soaring ceiling over the exhibits hummed.

 _Creepy._

Someone had called it once.

Not really.

Just—

"Quiet."

All at once she jumped, eyes snapping open and hand flying to her collar as if to calm her fright-stirred heart.

He was…

Not at all how she remembered.

Coattails and angles all and worn but sleek. Metal only in the expected instances, a pin lettered and bright against a black lapel, "KC", and cufflinks catching light as he smoothed as stray strand into place, where it'd fallen from the half sweep out of his eyes. The rest was feathered with a handful of early silver he'd decided not to fight.

The same as his own curiosity.

 _Why are you here?_

The words bubbled up on her tongue, half amused and any greeting disappearing.

"It's been a while."

"It has."

Age had crept into his voice, drawing it a little deeper, smoother.

She'd guessed at this then confirmed, her name an entirely different texture on his tongue now.

"Ishizu."

He nodded slightly in what she supposed was something of a bow.

His culture.

Somewhere where this address meant something.

The gesture and her name.

Where he pretended otherwise.

Where she pretended otherwise.

Mimicked the nod

Told herself she didn't notice the shape of his name on her lips.

"Seto."

For the first time.

And likely the last.

"If you're here for the gala, I'm afraid you're a little early."

"Time differences." He went on quickly, "is the museum closed?"

Though he looked as if he knew the answer even before he'd thought to ask.

"Yes, but can make an exception this once."

Where she'd anticipated, heart seeming to stop, she found no reason for it after all.

"Thank you."

She couldn't help the smile stealing onto her lips, however small.

The quiet of the museum enveloped them as they strolled.

Easy paths between the glass cases.

He stood at the bottom of one of many staircases, eyes up to the pair of stone statues there and arms folded easily behind his back, fingers absently tapping at the mask in hand.

The King and Queen of some forgotten time.

If she knew he would jump, she might not have reached for it. But there she was, just barely suppressing the desire to step away once he'd wheeled around to face her.

But he wasn't much better, just as much effort spent in arranging his features in some blank way.

And then, the last thing she might have expected.

"What… are you doing?"

His voice had cracked.

Afterwards, he was as quick to clear his throat as he was to offer her the white, gleaming thing.

She looked at the mask just to puzzle without his notice.

Without a word, they resumed their stroll.

"Is that what you're wearing this evening?"

Casting a glance aside, she caught his eyes flicking up from wherever they'd begun to wander.

"Of course not," she said. "I won't be attending."

He stopped so quickly, she was a step ahead before she realised.

His face was unreadable.

And his pause without reason.

"Understandable."

Once more, he made to resume their pace.

Only she dallied, pretending to take interest in an exhibit near her. Carefully, she turned as if to better look at it and saw better.

Reflected in a fragment, she spied, watched him reach up to tug at his collar.

By the time she turned around, there wasn't a trace of it left.

The restlessness.

She couldn't guess where the idea came from but it slipped out before she could think better of it.

"A new exhibit is set to première tonight."

When he didn't dismiss the idea…

"Follow me."

His steps had a pleasant sort of sound, the pointed clack of some types of heels.

One of two double doors pressed slowly open with an obstinate creak.

Beyond was dark and vast.

They stepped just inside and she reached, blindly patting at the wall until she found the switch.

A thousand lights flicked to life one by one.

Slowly they spread into an arch, a figure outstretched.

"The sky goddess."

She couldn't make out his expression in near, blued dark. But she felt, somehow, that he hadn't attempted to mock her.

This was one too many instances.

"You knew exactly what time it was," she began quietly, "and you knew the museum was closed."

He neared as if to hear her better.

"Additionally, I'd be willing to bet you knew that I was not due to attend tonight's gala. Since you've decided not to volunteer an answer, I'll ask. Why you are here?"

He didn't answer.

Not with words but with hands slowly taking her arms. Lips brushing hers. Some smaller space than a moment. And yet somehow, in such a space, sparkling clarity.

A kiss before a kiss.

And the second without description. Even while she'd anticipated it, she hadn't the feel. Every inch of her entirely still but inside, light just barely contained. Sparks erupting in every vein.

Endless.

Ending.

He let her go.

And she couldn't remember when she'd closed her eyes.

Or when it ever felt like that.

No.

Maybe it never had.

Her mind swam with warm thoughts and not one of them sensible.

But she's stopped caring then and reached blindly in the dark once more.

Curled.

Fingers into his lapels.

Words against his lips.

"I didn't quite catch that…"


	4. Blue

**Rating :** T  
 **Warnings :** alcohol reference, language, some illustration of mental trauma  
 **Pairing** : polarshipping  
 **Colour** : blue  
 **Musical inspiration** : _Stay with Me_ \- Diamond Eyes  & Christina Grimmie  
 **Requested by:** (requester has asked to remain anonymous)

* * *

In the restless dark, knocks rattled the front door its very frame.

Then, as if she could blow it off the hinges, she started yelling.

Or, it sounded like it in her own ears.

Everything was … too _loud_ … too close.

She was mumbling at the door. Rubbing at her arms. Casting scowls over her shoulder.

Snowflakes glimmered in the night. Unnatural heat brimmed within. Overflowed. Pouring out of her with every laboured breath. Little clouds disappearing between slower knocks.

Words beginning to trail into shaking breaths.

Nothing.

"Fine!"

It tore out of her.

"I'm too goddamn…" Words stewed in quick anger then faded. "God… damn… good for you. And you knew it too you…"

Bastard.

Trembling hand raised, her nails scraped wood and worn door numbers.

 _God._

 _You're everything._

"That's why you let me…"

Go.

Fingers smeared red away from her lips. Tried to keep the sound in.

She stumbled away from the door.

Stopped.

The stairwell swam.

A familiar growl wavered on the dark made the whole of her tremble.

Low and tired.

Like her.

All the times he'd been there.

He was still there.

She turned.

Blurry eyes met widening ones.

And it took every bit of the breath from his lungs,

"Mai."

Cold bolted through.

Woke her.

Never mind.

"I…" She reached for her suddenly pounding head. "I have to go."

She turned.

Unraveled.

Under his hands taking her shoulders and tuning her around again.

Under his quivering smile.

"Guess ya got better balance with the heels huh…"

Hooked fingers clenched around forgotten straps in her hand.

 _I can't do this._

With a clatter, her shoes hit the floor.

Then they were both stumbling into the dark of his apartment.

She wouldn't let go.

Not when the whole of him was frighteningly real. This time. Not a dream. Like fire. Under her fingertips, clumsy twists in his shirt. Against the rest of her.

Unmoving.

"Mai what are ya'—"

His shuddering exhale was warm itself.

"Sleep with me."

 _I need to sleep._

Even while she tugged at his clothes, he pulled her hands away.

Put a step's space between them.

A long moment passed.

He let go.

"Ya'… drunk."

He never sounded so quiet, so careful.

She hated it.

"Ya' don't know what ya' sayin'."

"I'm not drunk."

It didn't matter.

There wasn't any difference.

"I know what I _said_."

He didn't want any of this.

Maybe he never had.

 _It was all in my head._

We're friends.

"Ya' crashin' here." He gestured to the blackness of the hallway. "I'll take the couch."

Just friends.

"No. I'll…"

 _I don't want to be here._

Suddenly the world slipped off its axis.

And he was there.

Just the ways she'd wanted. Arms under. Her back. Her legs. Then more. Blankets and sheets and pillows all soft and crinkling under her.

The dark figure there for once not the unnamed things. Bright-eyed. Hissing. Shuddering things. Claws digging into her arms.

Just his hands.

A familiar shape.

Wavering by fatigue onsetting.

Alcohol warming.

Everything began to turn black.

 _I can't do this!_

Screams crushed into whispers.

Sobs.

What she'd meant to say.

Always.

"Don't leave."

Under her hands, his chest tightened.

"Mai—"

 _Forget my pride._

"Please."

A moment passed.

Forever.

Seconds.

"Ah'right."

Her hands left him only to find him again. Fingers slowly clawing his shirt back into her palms as the bed creaked with his settling at her side.

In the quiet, she knew him.

Near-silent breaths and the steadying fall and rise of his chest nearly meeting her hands.

Slowly loosening grip.

For once…

 _I'm okay._

They slid over her.

Ease.

Sleep.

In dimness and fluttering lashes everything began to fade away.


	5. Neon Purple

**Rating :** T  
 **Warnings :** alcohol reference, sexual content, drug use  
 **Pairing :** toonshipping (Pegasus x Seto)  
 **Colour :** neon purple  
 **Musical inspiration :** _Is There Somewhere_ \- Halsey / _Politik_ \- Coldplay  
 **Requested by:** (requester has chosen to remain anonymous)

 **T** his one is mostly through Seto's eyes.

* * *

Drowsy vocals wavered in too-bright cuts of neon through half closed blinds. A radio on the windowsill. Just far enough out of reach where the ashtray wasn't. On the nightstand.

Gray. Prickling in his lungs for a moment. Then Smoke trails curling up from where he sat in bed. Unseen. Humming causing his eyes to flick back open.

A messy figure somewhere near the bed. Lazy steps all over in some nameless waltz. Like this was home. And not just a hotel room. Some country. Some city neither of them could remember how to pronounce by now. Late night scratching words out.

"Knock it off."

More breath and smoke than it was complaint.

Ignored complaint.

"A couple drinks and you dance."

More than a couple.

Pointing it out in so many words made it stop.

"What would you have me do?"

"Anything but that."

No.

Anything but this.

Making the bedsprings creak with new weight. Resting his head there on his shoulder. Somewhere where it didn't feel so heavy.

"It's been a while."

 _Since we last did this._

"It has."

There were no words.

Just fingers crooked around collar and tie.

And peppery embers crushed and forgotten.

They fell across the bed. Clumsy tangles. Under. Buzzing street sign light clacking on and off. Constant patterns. Clothes. Over. Nightstand drawers jerked open. Pale Sheets. Hands reaching up.

Maybe for no reason at all.

What difference did it make?

The way he twisted dark hair in and around his fingers.

Come morning, he wouldn't remember.

Not this.

Not hooking legs over hips. One then another.

Not what he sounded like from under.

Unfolding.

Sharp shadows cutting across the dip in his shoulder as silver spilled aside from his neck.

 _Enfolding._

Pleasure out in so many notes. Stuttering up. At the sight above him. Skin made bioluminescent in neon. Lip curving up over one crooked canine in a fading grimace.

Panting up into the dark, he whispered,

"This is the beginning."

It was easier to think the words didn't mean anything.

Just half drunk nonsense.

"Shut up."

Hisses bleeding out into pleasure then buried under more in the same vein. More. Louder. Slowly drowning out. Everything _._ Yes. Three letters in so many variations. Murmured nonsense and fingers clutching the back of his neck.

 _I don't want to think._

About the beginning. Or one in a lifelong series. A letter. A kingdom. A gamble. A partnership. Academica. Then errant chatter turning excuses turning outright lies turning god knew what this was now.

Meetings.

In the form of phone calls at 3am. Just breath and a few words through the receiver.

 _Are you here?_

Domino. Paris. Delhi. London. Shanghai. Los Angeles.

 _Can you find me?_

Minutes or days.

He never asked how much time there was. Anything was enough. Right now. _I just need._ This. More. Of lip and limb all over. Above. Below. _I need—_ Curling fingers wrenching out every ounce. Something there wasn't a word for. More and more. _You._

And the world sliding clean off its axis in a single moment.

And all the rest in so many others. All forgetting obligations lifetimes over. Playing lovers instead. On a thousand holidays. Like they were more than mutual means to ends.


End file.
